Devoted
by MissMelysse
Summary: Data's POV of the events in chapter 17 of CRUSH II: Ostinato. Zoe's been kidnapped, but there's another mission that must resolved before he can bring her home. One-shot. Data/Zoe. CRUSHverse. Contains the android equivalent of angst.


**Disclaimer:** ** _Star Trek: the Next Generation, the_** **U.S.S. Enterprise** ** _, and all the canon characters belong to CBS/Paramount. Anything else is mine. Reviews are better than chocolate; don't be shy._**

 **Takes place during chapter 17, "Fractured," of** ** _Crush II: Ostinato._**

 **Warning: Mention of rape and physical assault, nothing explicit.**

* * *

 **Devoted**

"Data! Help!" The scream is sharp, and originates from a point approximately thirty-seven meters behind him at a direction of two hundred ten degrees. He does not need to be told that the person screaming is Zoe. He knows every nuance of her voice, from fearful to flirtatious, from boisterous and giddy to quiet and thoughtful. He has listened to her talk for hours, has held her while she cried, has roused her from nightmares, has shared confessionals while pressed up against her. Her voice is as much his as the voice he typically uses for human speech. He would not – could not – mistake Zoe's voice for any other, or confuse any other with the sounds that are uniquely hers.

He freezes, torn for a fraction of a second between his duties to the colonists – getting them sorted into groups for beam-up – or his girlfriend. _Lover,_ a small subroutine insists. _She is your lover._ _Never mind that you never consummated your relationship; you_ _would_ _have if you had not been called away. For all intents and purposes, she_ _is_ _your lover._ A pathway is temporarily rerouted; the new term is accepted despite the technical inaccuracy.

"Geordi!" He calls to his colleague, his _friend_.

The man who is technically blind stares at him through his VISOR, and for a moment Data wonders if the other man sees neural activity that should not be present. "What is it, Data? Is something wrong?"

"I heard Zoe scream. I do not see her. Please confirm that I am not mistaken." It is unlike him to need another pair of eyes, but he is not processing as well as he should be. Instead he is running through every possible scenario that could have caused her sudden absence. He is analyzing the pitch of her scream. He is scanning the area – the dead husks of trees and the ash that was once grass.

"I don't see her, Data. Are you sure she didn't transport up with an earlier group?"

"I am certain."

"Well, let me hand off this group to Worf and Lt. Geary, and I'll help you look for her."

There is a part of himself that already knows it will do no good, but he reroutes the insistent warning and meets the other man's gaze. "Thank you, Geordi."

He jogs off in the direction of the scream, and nearly crashes into a too-familiar child-shaped missile. "He took her!" the boy is shouting it over and over. "He took her! He took her! He took her!"

"Charlie, please be calm," it takes more effort than it should to use a human inflection, to soften his voice to a level a child will not fear. "Who was taken? Do you mean Zoe? Whom was she taken by?" He rests his hand on the boy's quivering back, then strokes calming circles.

Charlie's huge dark eyes are brimful of tears when he looks into Data's own. "Zoe. He took her. He took Zoe."

"I heard her scream," Data tells the boy, kneeling in the ashes of the forest so they are eye-to-eye, so he is not perceived as a threat. "Was she injured?"

But the boy can only repeat. "He took her," until he gulps and swallows and says, "The man in black. The other you." The child holds out his hands, which, Data now realizes, he has been cupping together, clutching to his chest. "I picked up her beads."

Android vision hones in on the assortment of round objects protected by small, grubby hands. Beads. The beads from her bracelet. He lifts his head to scan the area beyond the boy; finds nothing. His initial urge is to keep going toward the origin of Zoe's scream, but this child cannot be left on his own.

Data rises to his feet, offers the child his hand. "Come with me," he says. "I will ensure that you are safely reunited with your parents."

"What about the beads?" Charlie's voice is small and scared.

"Will you do a favor for me?" Data asks gravely, and waits for the boy's affirming nod. "Will you keep those safe for her? For Zoe?"

"Okay."

The boy is wearing a coverall with a front pocket, and Data relocates the beads to that safe place. "Charlie, it will help me find her if I know why you were not with the group."

"I had to pee," the boy says. "She was running after me, to make me wait." He closes his eyes and tears fall. "I couldn't wait any more."

Only then does Data notice that the front of the boy's coveralls are soaked through. He searches his memory for some way to ease the situation. Finally he finds the appropriate words. "Do not be ashamed," he says. "Accidents happen."

 **(=A=)**

The mood in the conference room is subdued. Data is seated facing away from the great window, flanked by Commander Riker and Geordi. Across the table, Zoe's mother, Lt. Commander Emily Harris, is seated between Edouard Benoit and Doctor Crusher, who happens to be the anthropologist's close friend. The captain is at the head of the table, the counselor at the foot. Worf is not present; the security chief has the bridge.

"This was supposed to be a safe assignment," Emily is saying, grief and worry making her voice break. "You were supposed to keep her safe, Data. I trusted you." Unspoken, but plainly heard by all, is the accusation, _Zoe trusted you._

"The presence of the Crystalline Entity is not something we could predict, Commander," the captain reminds her, his tone gentle yet leaving no room for argument. "Two colonists were killed, the entire planet devastated. We will, of course, dedicate every possible resource to finding your daughter and bringing her home."

"Zoe," Emily corrects. "Her name is Zoe."

"We are well aware of that, Em," Riker answers. "Hell, there isn't a single person at this table who doesn't have a personal connection to her of some kind, and not just because she's your daughter. You should have seen her last night in the caves. She stayed calm when half the adults there didn't, and she kept the kids quiet and secure."

"Fantastic. I'm sure that will look great on her college applications."

Data has never before realized just how much of Zoe's snark is an echo of her mother's, though, he decides, the younger Harris woman's turn of phrase is uniquely her own. Like her daughter, though, Emily is using sarcasm as a defense mechanism. For a nanosecond, he wishes for the capacity to do the same.

"Zoe's capture was also not something that could have been predicted," he says softly. _If Zoe were in this room with them, she would be reaching for his hand under the table at this point. But then, if Zoe were in the room, this conference would not be occurring._ "You are correct that Zoe joined us at my invitation, and that her safety was my responsibility." He leans forward across the table, and speaks directly to Emily. "I _will_ find her and bring her home."

He does not say – he does not _need_ to say – that he cannot guarantee Zoe will be alive when he does so.

"Alright then," the captain moves the meeting along. "Are you certain it was Lore who took her? Is he also to blame for the presence of the Crystalline Entity?"

"I do not believe we can be ever certain whether the Crystalline Entity followed Lore to Melona, or Lore followed the Crystalline Entity," Data tells them. "But I am certain it _is_ Lore who has Zoe."

 **(=A=)**

For the duration of the mission, roughly two days, the majority of Data's _time_ is taken up by assisting Dr. Marr, who often seems more interested in hearing him repeat sections of her son's journals than in the objective she claims to be pursuing: the study and neutralization the Crystalline Entity.

When, at first, the visiting scientist refuses to treat him as anything more than a nuisance, he almost welcomes her rudeness, as it provides him with a reason to divert a significant portion of his internal resources to figuring out where Lore has taken Zoe.

Throughout the mission, Data's _attention,_ however, is focused on that more personal goal. He has promised Emily, and himself, that he will bring Zoe home.

That Data manages to trace a neutrino trail which meets the characteristics of the trail typically left by small, fast-moving, easily-hidden vessels at roughly the same time he, Geordi, and Dr. Marr successfully use gamma scans to track the space-going creature, qualifies, he believes, as a 'bitter irony.' Duty to the ship, to the greater good, mean that he must focus on the greater mission first, and to do that, he pares back his subroutines to the bare minimum required to function amongst his colleagues. The rest remains focused on tracking the stealth ship, on analyzing what little he knows about his brother's apparent goals, and on cataloguing every possible thing that could be happening to the woman he…to Zoe.

When Counselor Troi asks him how he is doing, he evades. "I am…functioning," he tells her. He does not say that he is doing so within normal parameters. He suspects she already knows he is not.

When there is, at last, nothing more to be done but wait, he seeks solace in music, picking up his guitar rather than his violin.

Zoe had once expressed interest in learning guitar. Were anyone to ask, he could easily tell them that he is working out a lesson plan, and it would not be entirely untrue, but the greater truth would be that music was their first real point of connection, and playing it makes the needle-prick of her absence puncture his awareness with slightly less clarity.

 **(=A=)**

As much as Data would have preferred that the Crystalline Entity not be destroyed ( _Killed_ , insists a subroutine, that, oddly, leaves him with the echo of Zoe's voice. If you are alive, so was that creature. It was not destroyed, it was _killed._ ), the being's demise means that locating Zoe has become the primary goal for the ship as a whole.

He scans the area, and locks onto the trail of neutrinos, tracking what must be a ship with a haphazard cloaking device. A hail is sent and goes unanswered. _Wash, rinse, repeat,_ as Zoe would say. Finally, after four hours, twenty-three minutes, fifty-seven point zero nine seconds a weak comm-link crackles to life.

 _-"This is Zoe Harris. Please help me."_

She doesn't speak again, but neither does she close the channel. He tracks, triangulates, coordinates with Worf. A pulse of energy, and the already-failing cloak has been disabled.

"Assemble an away team," Captain Picard begins.

"Captain," it is unlike him to interrupt a superior officer, but he… perceives… that he must. "Sir, I believe I should go alone. We have scanned the ship for positronic life signs; there are none… and Zoe…trusts me."

He holds Picard's gaze with his own for slightly more than ninety seconds, seconds that seem to tick by at a slower-than-usual pace. This perception fascinates him, and were he not primarily concerned with reclaiming Zoe and bringing her to safety, he would consider making a study of it. The reality, however, is that time is constant in this region of space. Still he cannot help but consider: perhaps this is what people mean by a _long moment_?

Picard seems to sense his second officer's need to be the only person at risk.

"Very well, Mr. Data," the captain says. "Secure Lore's ship, and we'll bring it aboard via tractor beam." The older man pauses, and his expression softens from crisp professionalism to something more personal. "Bring her back to us."

"Aye sir."

He leaves his position on the bridge and walks into the turbo-lift, directing it to the closest transporter room. Once on the proper deck he bursts into a high-speed run. The two crewmembers he passes will later observe that they had never known he could move that quickly.

Chief O'Brien is on duty, and while the only words exchanged between the two men are related directly to the task at hand, his friend offers a look of sympathy and understanding that Data finds… reassuring.

 **(=A=)**

Lore's ship – a nearly derelict yacht, if one were to be precise – has been stripped down to the minimum components necessary to function in space. Necessary for an _android_ to function, Data amends to himself.

The grand stateroom, obviously meant for the captain, has been emptied of furniture, though the places where fixtures were once attached to bulkhead walls are still evident. The lavatory appears to be in working order, but the strong scent of chemical cleaning agents would, Data surmises, make it unlikely that anyone would linger within. The cargo bay, likewise, is empty of everything except a single, limited-range transporter pad. The doors to the other two staterooms stand open, but it is clear from the briefest of looks that neither has been used in quite some time.

The bridge is where he finds her. For several nanoseconds he cannot quite parse what he sees, but then everything resolves into too-precise colors and lines. Zoe's boots, tossed to either side of the cramped, tiered space. Pieces of familiar clothing – torn khaki, red lace underwear. (She had teased him with that underwear on the morning before she was taken, flirting with him just for the apparent 'fun' of it. A subroutine in the very back of his consciousness insists that he should have engaged his flirtation routines with her that morning, 'just because.')

Data checks his tricorder again, then calls in the report.

"I am on the bridge of Lore's yacht. There is no evidence of his presence, sir." He takes a beat, and then he adds, "She is here." He moves toward the still, huddled form of the young woman who has become an integral part of his life. The electronic trill of his tricorder breaks the silence in the room as he scans her, reading her vital signs, her medical status, once and then again. "And alive."

 _\- "Is she injured?"_

"I am still assessing."

In the dim light, he realizes that she is barely conscious, and that she only clothing she has is a black leather jacket and the socks he watched her put on nearly three days before. And comprehension dawns. His brother, the only technical family he has in the universe, has _violated_ Zoe.

He wonders if his inability to become enraged, is, at this moment, a blessing or a curse.

Quietly, he steps away from her, opens the comm-link again. "Data to _Enterprise_ , Captain, please stand by for text transmission." He reopens the tricorder and sends the detailed message outlining Zoe's condition. Then he returns to her side, and kneels on the deck.

"Zoe, it is Data. Do not attempt to speak." It is not that he doesn't wish to hear her voice, but that he knows that she is dehydrated. As well, her throat is ringed with bruises…fingerprints…. He does not wish to cause her further pain.

She ignores his instruction, and asks him in a voice that is cracked and exhausted, "Is it… is it really you?"

"Yes, Zoe, it is really me. It is Data. You are safe now." Very gently, he strokes her hair away from her face, flinching slightly when she hisses. She has a scalp laceration, he notices, just above her right temple. As well, according to his scan, her right wrist has been fractured, she is _dangerously_ dehydrated, her blood sugar is significantly low, and this is all in addition to his brother's – to _Lore's_ – more heinous crime. If he were human, he was certain he would be 'sick to his stomach' from the knowledge alone.

When Zoe speaks again, her voice is little more than a whisper. "Knew you'd come."

"I am sorry I took so long," he keeps his tone as soft and warm as possible. "Can you sit up if I help you?"

Her head moves against the deck in a slight nod, and Data half-lifts, half-scoops her into his arms, nestling her against his chest. He is still kneeling, but his joints will suffer no strain from the awkward position. He sees the tears pooling in her eyes, but he also feels her body tense just before the sobs burst out of her.

"Data, he..."

"I know," he says, breathing a kiss into her hair. "I know. It will not happen again. You are safe, and as soon as I secure this vessel I will take you home."

"Safe?" She asks the question as if she must be reassured.

He is happy to repeat. "Yes. You are safe. I am here. I will not allow further harm to come to you."

"Don't let go."

"No, Zoe, I will not. I will not let go." He makes the promise without question or hesitation.

 **(=A=)**

Data holds her close to with one arm, while he uses a padd to break into the aged yacht's computer and reprogram the security and propulsion systems. It takes only minutes, but he suspects that to Zoe the time feels like hours or worse.

Her eyes are dark and huge in her tear-stained face. A part of him wants to kiss away those tears, as he as seen lovers do in so many entertainment videos, but this is not a video, and the information on sexual assault that resides within his memory banks suggests that he should not do anything that Zoe does not explicitly request.

As we works, he continues to reassure her, "You are safe now. It is all over. I am here. I will take you home soon." He hopes some part of her realizes that he _means_ the words, that they are not just a subroutine-governed 'auto-repeat.'

"He…he…"

He slips the padd back into the pouch on his uniform. "You do not have to say it."

But his brave, brave girlfriend says it anyway. "Lore raped me." He wishes he could cry with her, especially when she adds, in a broken and plaintive voice, "I wish you could make it not be true."

He tightens his arms around her, and buries his face in her hair, breathing in her scent. He would not be able to explain _why_ his reply is muted, but he would swear that he means it more than he has ever meant anything in his life. "As do I."

Data knows he should open the comm-channel and request immediate beam-out, but holding her, providing the protection of his body, seems more important in that moment. Finally, he retrieves his tricorder, makes one less scan to ensure that all is in order, snaps the device shut again, and taps the badge on his chest.

"Data to Enterprise. Two to beam directly to sickbay. Please have Counselor Troi on standby."

 **(=A=)**

Emily is waiting with the counselor and the doctor when the transporter beam releases them, and all three women are talking, rapid-fire. "Thank god! Thank you for finding her. Zoe, sweetie, are you alright?"

"Data, I've got one of the isolation bays set up for her, for privacy. Can you bring her there?"

"Zoe…Zoe, it's Deanna. You're home now, and safe, and you're going to be alright."

If he is becoming overwhelmed, how much more so must Zoe be feeling, he wonders, not at all surprised when she squeezes his hand, reminds him not to let go, and closes her eyes against the light and noise.

Almost perfunctorily, acting as though he is - as Zoe would call it – _on autopilot_ , Data answers the two medical professionals' questions about the young woman's condition, handing over his tricorder so that the information can be uploaded directly into the sickbay computer system.

Throughout all of the diagnostics, the administration of sedatives, nutritive supplements, vitamin packs, and the connection via a needle to a rehydration system, Data never lets go of Zoe's hand.

Finally, the young woman is stable, and has fallen into a sleep only partly induced by drugs. Zoe's mother has sunken into one of the provided chairs, and he is sitting in another, more because Emily is more comfortable with him at eye-level than because he requires a respite from standing.

"He didn't just brutalize her, did he?" Emily asks him softly.

They both know the 'he' in question is Lore.

"No, he did not."

"He…he raped my daughter… didn't he?"

"Yes," he answers simply. "I would give anything to make it not be so," he adds, as much because she needs to hear it as because he needs to say it. They are both silent for another minute and seventeen point six seconds before he adds. "Emily, perhaps it does not need to be said, but I would have you know: the next time I encounter Lore, I will kill him." The words are offered in his usual matter-of-fact tone, with none of the nuanced inflections that color his conversations with the woman in the bio-bed.

His girlfriend's mother meets his eyes across the bed, over Zoe's pale, bruised form, and utters just one word: "Good."

 **(=A=)**

Some hours later (six point three six five, to be precise) they begin to converse again, in hushed tones.

"This can't be easy for you," Emily observes, speaking the words softly. "Surely keeping this…this vigil…isn't the best use of your time."

"I promised Zoe I would not let go," Data explains, lifting his and Zoe's clasped hands so the other woman can see that he keeps his promises to her daughter.

"You care for her very deeply, don't you?"

He considers several possible responses before settling on the greatest truth he can. "I am devoted to her."

* * *

 **Notes:** It always seemed incongruous (to me) that Data was playing the guitar alone in his quarters in the middle of "Silicon Avatar," which is what this piece spans. (I'm guessing there was originally a scene or throwaway line explaining this as a remnant of Marr's son's experience, or some such.) The piece he was playing, by the way, is Francisco Tárrega's "Prelude #4 in A-Minor." Oh, and yes, there are pieces of conversations here that don't exactly match Zoe's POV from chapter 17 of _Crush II: Ostinato._ Consider that Zoe was altered (in various degrees) during that entire chapter. Charlie Simmons and Lt. Geary are my own creations.


End file.
